Life As A House
by LoveIsBlind
Summary: Avengers AU/Modern day/No superpowers Steve Rogers and James Barnes have been through hell. Friends since childhood, their bond strengthened as they grew up and experienced life together. Upon graduating high school, both men enlisted in the US Army, and went on to do several tours each in Iraq. Now, they've been discharged, and find a house to rent together. NOT A STUCKY FIC
1. Prologue

**Life As A House-Prologue**

Present Day

Boston, MA

"Honey, you're going to be just fine."

"Mom..." Steve Rogers sighed as his mother stared at him with blue eyes that were tearing up yet again. He didn't know why he was surprised- all Sarah Rogers had been doing was crying in some way, shape, or form ever since he had returned to the States after his honorable discharge from the US Army, due to the gunshot wounds that had nearly caused him to bleed out in the desert sands of Iraq. He had had the option of re-enlisting in the Army, doing something mundane, such as becoming a recruiter, or to be honorably discharged. The decision had been a no-brainer for Steve. Being in the army had nearly cost him his life, and now that he was nearly done recovering from multiple surgeries to repair the internal organs the bullets of the enemy's gun had damaged, he realized just how close of a call he'd had. This realization had made him want to put as much distance as possible between himself and the military, even though the soldier in him still questioned if he had made the right choice.

It had been three weeks since he had opened his eyes groggily, vision blurry as he tried to make out where the hell he was, struggling to remember who he was. The last thing he could recall was being in excruciating pain, crying hopelessly on the burning sand under the blistering sun, pressing his hands to his side in a desperate attempt to staunch the the blood that was flowing heavily through his fingers, no matter how hard tried to stop it.

The next thing he knew, he was blinking to clear his vision and the first thing he saw, as he discovered he was in a hospital room of some sort, was his mother hunched over him. Sarah Rogers' face had been ashen and tear-streaked, and he swore to God that she looked ten years older than she had merely months before, when he had been home on leave for the holidays. He had reached up and and gently squeezed the hand she'd been using to stroke his hair, and her face had gone through a roller coaster of emotions before she had burst into happy tears, frantically pushing the call button on the hospital bed to alert the nurses that he was awake.

After enduring a barrage of medical scans, X-rays, blood work, and an extremely extensive psychiatric evaluation, his doctor had delivered the news that he would make a full recovery...physically. However, since he had no memories of the days and weeks that had led out to him almost bleeding to death in Iraq, his doctor was very blunt and forthcoming about the high possibility of depression and PTSD, not to mention about a dozen other mental maladies common to traumatized soldiers, setting in as these memories returned to him. To be honest, Steve hadn't been concerned-after all, none of his other soldier memories were causing him any issues. However, he graciously and gratefully accepted the thick stack of brochures, smiling as he did so. He was just ready to go home.

Today was the day he went home-home as in his own house, and not his parents', as his mother had hoped, which was he reason she was crying this time. Needless to say, Sarah had not been thrilled when his best friend, and fellow soldier, James Barnes, had contacted him in the hospital, and suggested the idea of he and Steve getting a place together. James had also recently been honorably discharged due to injuries during combat...which meant that he was also coming home. With no living family of his own, it was understandable that he wouldn't want to ease back into civilian life alone. James had been a lifelong friend, and they did everything together, as kids, teens, and even adults, as they enlisted in the Army together immediately following their high school graduation. They had ended up in different areas in Iraq, but had always remained in touch, checking in often to make sure they were both still alive.

So, the two friends had done some house hunting via the internet, as they were both hospitalized in different locations, and after a few days of looking, and many phone and Skype conversations, they had settled on that was perfect, although a bit large for two bachelors. In between discussions about loans and which bills should be put in each of their names, Steve attempted to tactfully broach the subject of James' injuries, but his friend divulged nothing. Any time he tried to ask, James shut him down, hastily changing the topic, and in a few instances when Steve couldn't be deterred, abruptly disconnected calls. So, while Steve was thrilled to be buying his own place, he couldn't help but be apprehensive, wondering just what he was going to find when he and James found themselves face to face again. He was truly beginning to think that he was going to either find his best friend wheelchair bound, hideously disfigured, or (God forbid) both.

The realtor and bank had both been very accommodating to both soldiers, and all required paperwork hand been hand-delivered to their respective hospitals, where both Steve and James signed what felt like a billion pages, making the house theirs. Steve would never forget the look on his mother's face when the realtor and banker had mistakenly congratulated him on his new house purchase with his 'partner'. He hadn't known if he'd wanted to laugh or cry as he assured his mother that, no, he was not gay. And no, he and James were _not_ a couple. For fuck's sake. He may have been missing some of his memories, but he very, _very_ clearly remembered his sexual orientation, thank you very much.

Steve had been released from the hospital today, and his mother was currently driving him to his new house, where James was waiting, as he had gotten out of his hospital prison a few days before. Steve's father, Joe, had spent a lot of time at the house that week, moving in all of his belongings, and assisting James with his as well. Also, Joe had done some minor home repairs, wanting his son, and the man who was like his son, to not have to worry about anything unnecessary as they both continued to heal. And now, as his mom pulled into the winding driveway and parked, he was home. After five grueling years spent serving his country, he was home.

He had no clue what awaited him inside. He had no clue his injured James was. He had no clue what he was going to do for work. He had no clue if his other friends knew he was home. He had no clue why his sister, Saylor, hadn't called or visited. He had no clue what the fuck he was doing in any aspect of his life right now. All he knew was that he had this house, his family, and he was alive when he should have probably been dead.

He turned to his mom as he unbuckled his seatbelt, pulling her into a hug. "You're right, Ma. I'm going I'm going to be just fine."


	2. Two Old Friends Comparing Scars

**Life As A House**

 **Chapter One: Two Old Friends Comparing Scars**

A year. That had been the last time Steve had seen James in person. Albeit, it was brief and in passing, on a military base in Baghdad. Never in his entire life had he been nervous about seeing his best friend. In this moment, however, Steve was learning that anything was possible. When he'd opened the door to his new house, he hadn't any idea what to expect upon stepping inside, but he wasn't expecting to be greeted by deafening silence with James nowhere in sight. He'd closed the door behind him, his footsteps sounding loud in the sparsely furnished house that was even larger than it seemed in the photographs he'd viewed online.

The living room was where the front door led to, no hallway or entrance area, despite the overabundance of space. As he walked the length of the room, ideas began popping into his mind; this old house had been a steal and admittedly needed a shit-ton of work, but from first glance, none of it appeared major. Steve assumed that his dad had taken care of any major issues, which he was thankful for. He was looking forward to getting his hands dirty, and starting some repairs and renovations. He wasn't accustomed to being idle. It had just about driven him insane to be stuck in that hospital room for the past three weeks, and even though he still couldn't tackle anything too strenuous, it felt like heaven to not be restricted by those four white, sterile walls.

It was also very relieving to be away from his mother. God bless her, she meant well, but he'd learned that she had barely left his side since he was flighted home in a medically induced coma for further treatment. His mother had been pretty normal, as far as moms went, until he joined the army. Then she got protective and overbearing, which was understandable to a certain degree, he supposed. But it felt damn good to no longer be under her worried gaze. Part of the reason he had chosen this particular house was due to the fact that it was a good 30 minutes from his parents house. It gave him enough distance from her to not have to worry about her randomly popping in a hundred times a day, but was close enough to them that Steve could get there easily in 20 if they needed him (as long as he disregarded the speed limit).

Steve smiled as he set his bag down on the end table he recognized from his parents' basement, and sank down onto a sofa he recognized as once belonging to his grandma. It would take a while before he started to think of this place as his, but he was home. He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat when the unwelcome fact of how close he had come to -not- coming home intruded his thoughts. His heart rate rocketed, and his palms began to sweat, and he began to feel like he was losing his shit. He tugged at his shirt collar frantically, struggling to suck in enough breath. Holy shit. He was dying. He was going to die from a heart attack after he fucking survived becoming fucking Swiss cheese in Iraq. His skin felt unbearably itchy, and he wished more than anything that he could crawl out of it. He drew in a shaky breath, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he swore his throat was closing up on him. He started shaking uncontrollably, on the verge of screaming, crying, -something-, as he vaguely registered the feel of a large hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Steve managed to pry his eyes open long enough to find James kneeling in front of him, wearing an expression of pained sympathy on his face.

"Holy fuck, Barnes, I think I'm dying," Steve wheezed, teeth chattering.

"Steve," James spoke calmly, but firmly. "You're not dying."

"My chest is so, -fuck-, tight, and I can't breathe. I think I'm having a goddamn heart attack. Please help me." Steve's voice became small and frightened as he finished his sentence. Too far gone in his panic, he failed to notice that he was crying and trying to curl into himself.

James brought his hand from his friend's shoulder to his hand, and grasped it firmly. "Steve," he said again, "You're not having a heart attack. You're having an anxiety attack."

He paused, his blue eyes filled with anguish that laid right beneath the surface of his tranquil demeanor. "I've had enough of them to know, believe me."

Steve gaped at James, finding enough air to let out a humorless laugh. "Is this that PTSD shit my doctor kept talking about?"

The two friends held each other's gaze for a moment before both bursting out in laughter. "Uh, yeah," James smirked, "That would be 'that PTSD shit' your doctor was talking about...well, the tip of iceberg really." He looked away from Steve and pulled his hand out of his friend's and plopped next to him on the floral patterned couch.

"Well, shit," Steve muttered, breathing deeply now that the pressure in his chest had subsided, "I didn't actually think I was gonna have to worry about it. I kind of feel like an idiot. Guess I should have looked over all those pamphlets about it." He glanced at his hospital bag, contemplating.

Silence resonated, and both men felt slightly awkward. Now that Steve's panic attack had passed, there was nothing for them to focus on, except each other. James had been told the details of Steve's injuries during their phone conversations when he was still hospitalized, but James' were still a matter of mystery. He was trying to think of a tactful way to ask when James stood, moving so that he stood in front of Steve.

"Just ask, dude. Ask me what happened to me, I know you want to."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "I've tried to ask you a hundred times, James. I figured I'd stop asking and let you tell me when you were ready."

"Fuck, I'm never ready to tell -anyone-, but as we live together now, it's bound to come out sometime. I don't wanna shock you with the sight of it." He looked away, not meeting his friend's eyes, suddenly looking more uncomfortable and devastated than Steve had ever seen him look.

Steve looked James up and down. At first glance, everything about him seemed normal, barring his blue eyes that held a depth of pain and darkness that had never been there previously, and that worried him. James' rich brown hair was just starting to get a small amount of length to it, his buzz cut beginning to grow out. Briefly wondering if he would keep it short or grow it out long again, as he'd had it in high school when he suddenly noticed what was missing. James was wearing a long-sleeved Henley, but only one sleeve was filled the muscular definition of an arm underneath; the other sleeve hung limply, loosely. Steve closed his eyes.

Shit. Fucking shit. No wonder James had kept this under wraps. Before the two of them had left for boot camp, they had gone out to eat at Buffalo Wild Wings, and relayed their deepest fears and excitements about entering the military. They were excited to get to potentially see the world, of course, and being the naive 18 year olds they had been, were stoked about the weapons and taking down the bad guys, excited to be on frontlines, fighting for the old red, white, and blue. While they had been aware that they could possibly die, they hadn't really considered it likely, and James had divulged to Steve that his worst fear wasn't getting blown to smithereens, getting captured and taken as a prisoner of war, or getting shot; his worst fear was losing a limb. And he'd made it painstakingly clear that he'd rather die than be without his arms or legs, and it made sense. Forced to be independent from an early age, James had always shied away from depending on anyone else, fearing that once he did, he'd lose them just like he had his parents. The fact that James' worst fear had happened to him was like a suckerpunch to Steve's gut.

"Fuck, James, I'm -so- sorry. I-I don't know what to say." There was nothing he could say to the other man to even begin to make up for what he had lost.

"I don't need your pity," James told him sharply, his voice cold. It was obvious he was emotionally shutting down, and Steve knew immediately that he had not come to terms with this at all. Not that he could blame him.

"Come on, man. I've never pitied you once in your life. I'm genuinely sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

The other man snorted. "Yeah. You could smack 18 year old me upside the head when I decided the Army was a good idea. You could have stopped me." He gave Steve a look full of mirth. "You always just went along with any of my ideas, why could you, just that once, have talked me down?"

Was he fucking kidding? All James had talked about since they were in preschool was joining the army to become a soldier, just like his dad; it had seemed to be all his friend had ever wanted. Steve was floored and a little hurt at what he was insinuating. His first instinct was to get angry, but he just couldn't allow that to happen, knowing now what James was going through. So although what Steve really felt like doing was flipping him the bird and telling him to fuck off, he chose to do the opposite. He got to his feet and drew the stiff and unwilling man before him into a hug, patting him on the back in that way that men did when they hugged.

Just like countless times before, he and James would get through this, because that's what they did. Pulling back, Steve didn't acknowledge the fact that James eyes were wet. Instead, he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his grey sweats, opening Safari and bringing up the menu on BWW's site. He turned it so James could see, and inquired if he wanted his usual. When he nodded, Steve then proceeded to ask if he could borrow James' Jeep, since his own Rover was still parked in his parents garage, where it stayed while he'd been gone.

After telling James to sit and chill and watch something on his laptop, he went outside, and unlocked the trusty Jeep he'd been acquainted with since high school. As he climbed up into the vehicle and closed the door, the scent brought memories rushing back. So much of his time outside of school and work had been spent in this vehicle, whether he was driving, riding shotgun, or seated in the back seat, usually flanked by Natasha and Clint, while his sister Saylor usually sat up front with James. Whether just going on long night drives to escape their parents, or going to the drive-in theatre to catch the horror double feature they always held on Friday nights, so many of his most memorable moments of his teenage years had taken place here, and the wave of nostalgia that came over him was causing him to feel all kinds of emotions, and he suddenly realized that he could not wait to reunite with his other friends as well.

As soon as he got back with their food and the couple of 6 packs he planned on grabbing, he was going to hash it out with James. Steve could tell that he desperately needed to talk about what had happened to him. And to be honest, Steve wanted to share his experience with James also. He was probably the only person in his life who would understand exactly where he was coming from.

There were so many things that he needed to figure out. He knew that he would be okay for a awhile before he needed to start working, but it couldn't hurt anything for him to start putting his feelers out for any available jobs in the area. And then this house he and James has bought. It was slightly in shambles, but once he was completely healed, and he could start repairing and fixing things, it was going to be amazing. He couldn't wait to have their old gang over, before he paused to wonder if James would be able to handle having them over and discovering his lack of an arm. If he couldn't even stomach letting him know, how was he going to be able to cope with everyone finding out?

Steve had quite the long road ahead, in every aspect of his life, but he was hopeful all would turn out okay. He had to believe all would be well. The last thing he wanted was to trigger another panic attack like he'd had earlier. All he could do was to take everything one moment at a time. All he needed to worry about in this moment was grabbing some grub and beer, getting back home, and trying to help his friend the best he could. And with any luck, everything else would fall back into place, as he continued to adjust to being back in the 'real world'.


	3. Reunions and Relapses

Steve chucked as from next to him, James let out a moan of contentment laced with a touch of regret. He made a nearly identical noise himself before falling back heavily on the couch, holding a hand to his now slightly distended stomach. "I feel ya, man. I haven't eaten this much in forever." He glanced at the wide array of food wrappers and takeout boxes that covered the surface of the coffee table, slightly taken aback by just how much food the two of them had packed away in a short time. Yes, he was full to the point of not being able to move, but he regretted nothing.

"Ugh, dude. I seriously feel like my stomach is gonna burst," James closed his eyes before eyeing the half full container of potato wedges in front of him. "But I still wanna finish these off." He popped one in his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the salty, greasy goodness. He turned and faced Steve with a humorless smirk. "Well, we least we know that my being a cripple doesn't have any effect on how fast I can stuff my face." He forced a laugh, but it was also humorless, and Steve wasn't fooled:

"James." He tried to inject the right amounts of disapproval, scolding, and tough love into his tone of voice but failed; he just sounded desperate and hurt.

Silence.

The sight before him was like a punch to the gut. James looked to be completely and utterly broken. Oh, it was obvious that he was attempting to keep it hidden, but Steve was fairly certain his friend was approaching his breaking point. The mask of cool indifference that James had mostly kept in place since their reunion was cracking, and he wasn't going to be able to keep it in place much longer. Steve sighed quietly when James refused to meet his eyes, and was trying to decide what the best method he could use to get his friend to open up.

In the past, he would have just straight up demanded that James talk to him. It had been an easy feat as an adolescent and young teen to get his often broody friend to confide in him. It had even been reasonably doable in high school, when it was considered uncool and lame for guys to talk about their feelings. In retrospect, Steve was pretty sure that the only reason James had willingly confided in him was because it was the only thing he'd been good at at that point in his life. In their group of friends, despite he and James being the closest, they were slightly divided. At school, Steve tended to spend most of his time with Bruce and Wanda, both smaller intellects with hearts of gold, just like him. James could always be found in the company of Clint, Sam, and Thor- three guys who were just as athletic and cocky as James. Tony, Natasha, Scott, and Loki (Thor's equally unfortunately naked brother) rounded out the friend group, easily fitting into both the intellectual and athletic categories. They were a tight knit group despite their differences, and they all looked out for Steve, valiantly coming to his defense on the occasions that the other kids at school decided to be dicks, seeing him as an easy target due to his size, or lack thereof.

From the moment he'd been born, Steve had been scrawny to the point of looking malnourished. It didn't matter how much or how unhealthily he ate- weight just didn't stick to him. He'd remained a bean pole until he turned 16, and was sick and tired of looking and feeling weak all the time. At this point, he and James had already talked about enlisting in the military. Not unkindly, James pointed out that he would be laughed out of the recruiter's office looking like he did. He'd squashed down his feelings of embarrassment and inadequacy and had asked his parents for a gym membership and six months of service with a personal trainer. His parents, always concerned that his small stature was going to hold him back in life didn't need to be asked twice- they were all too glad to foot this bull, and they had purchased an identical gift for James, who was at the Rogers' home so often that they loved him as a son as equally as they loved their own children, Steve and his sister, Saylor. Steve had been a bit irritated, as he had seen no reason why his already muscular and fit best friend needed a gym membership. He'd ended up being very glad and appreciative that his parents had. Like most things in life, fitness, strength training, and body building were a lot more fun when done with a friend as opposed to doing it solo. They'd had many a heart to heart while working out together in the gym, preferring to go at night for this particular reason- so they could talk freely without being overheard. It had taken almost two years and probably a billion hours spent working his ass off in that gym, but all his hard work combined with s late growth spurt resulted in the beginnings of the body he had today. He'd never looked back and up until getting shot, he'd always improvised a way to work out daily.

So, while Steve knew how he'd begin this conversation with James in the past, it was 0% helpful, because this was now. Now, they were two totally different people. For one thing, they were no longer boys- they were men. Not normal men though. They were former soldiers who had seen and lived through horrors that most other people could ever relate to or understand. That common bond, paired with their lifelong friendship should have resulted in the two of them being able to comfortably speak to each other, especially since they had both been gravely injured...but then again, Steve supposed that losing a limb wasn't quite the same as merely getting shot. No, they were actually very different injuries. Steve had come perilously close to dying (he pushed that thought out of his head, still not able to dwell on that fact without the fist of panic squeezing his heart). While he assumed that getting an arm blown off could cause death from bleeding out, not to mention excruciating pain, he wasn't exactly sure, and he had no fucking clue how to broach that subject. It was true that Steve had suffered massive blood loss, internal bleeding, and severe organ damage that had required numerous extensive surgeries and grueling physical therapy, he had emerged from the ordeal relatively in one piece.

The same couldn't be said for his friend seated next to him. He swallowed hard past the lump forming in his throat. He couldn't even begin to imagine what James had been through. While getting shot had been no walk in the park, he knew that being injured was affecting James more than him, and he knew why. It was all too apparent from the look in James eyes and the flippant way he referred to his missing arm that he now saw himself as a lesser man. A cripple, an invalid. And while Steve was able to understand that to an extent, James was still one of the most capable men he knew, and his friend needed to know that.

Sighing, Steve sat up straight and turned to face the shell of a man that was like a brother to him, and braced himself for the onslaught of rage that could potentially be coming his way shortly "James," he began, struggling to keep his voice steady and neutral, almost flat. If other man detected even a hint of anything that could even be loosely interpreted as pity, this conversation would be over before it started.

James gave him a glaring side eye and a grunt that could be taken to mean 'Hmm?', 'Fuck off', or anything in between.

Briefly contemplating tabling this talk for another time, Steve was about to drop the issue for the night when he felt his friend's hand touch his shoulder. He looked over, meeting James' blue eyes with his own. Steve had been expecting anger, not gentleness. He was trying to figure out what to say, but James beat him to it.

"Just ask me, man," he said quietly, sounding like he'd rather lose his other arm then participate in this discussion. He attempted a smile to soften the harshness of his tone.

"Are you sure?"

Steve was suspicious. This really couldn't be so easy...could it?

"Yeah. But," he paused for effect. "But if I talk, so do you."

Grimacing, Steve quickly stomped down the 'no, never mind, forget it, it's all good' that so desperately wanted to escape from his mouth. This was unexpected- both James being willing to cooperate and the absolute refusal that was still straining to break free of his clenched teeth.

"Sure, bud, that's a fair trade." To his embarrassment, his words came out slightly high pitcher and a little shaky.

In a move that reminded Steve of the old James, his friend reached over and grasped Steve's hand in his own, giving it a brief squeeze. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a terrible liar?" The smile on his face was closer to being genuine, his amusement at Steve's poor attempt at being honest evident.

The blonde man sagged back, resting his head on the sofa cushions. "Only you. Every chance you get."

James sat back also, releasing his friend's hand in the process. "Every chance I get," he agreed with a shit-eating grin.

The two men fell into silence, and Steve wasn't sure how much time had passed before James spoke again.

"Okay," the brunette man began, sounding resigned. "Neither one of us wants to have this conversation. And honestly, I wish we didn't have to. But the fact is...we do." James peeked at Steve, waiting for a denial. Once he determined he wouldn't be getting one, he continued. "I've been telling myself for days that talking about this isn't necessary. As much as I wanted to believe that, I can also feel the weight of the distance these unspoken things are putting between us." He stopped and shook his head. "That didn't come out quite right, but you know I'm not great with words."

Nodding in agreement, Steve motioned for his friend to continue.

James gave him a look of mock disdain. "You could at least pretend to disagree, you know?"

Steve shrugged, grimacing over exaggeratedly. "Dude, you just told me I'm a bad liar."

The two mean stared at each other for a few seconds before laughing.

"Okay, valid point," James conceded.

Steve stood, running a hand through his hair. "You're right, though. As shitty as reliving all of this is going to be, I think it needs to be done." Steve looked down, appearing almost shy and timid to the other man. "It's weird to feel like I have no idea who you are."

James eyes fell shut, guilt sweeping over him. Steve may have been even more fit and muscular then he himself was now, but underneath that, he was still the same person he'd always been- the greatest friend he could have ever asked for, a man with a heart of fucking gold. Steve had always had an uncanny ability of picking up on the slightest changes of emotions in a person. He knew that in addition to what he had gone through with being shot that his being a douche canoe probably wasn't helping matters. He trying to form some kind of an idea of what he was going to say when words started coming out of his mouth, almost without him realizing it.

"Steve, I need to apologize," he held up a hand, effectively stopping said man from speaking. Steve would get his turn, and more then likely would insist he didn't need an apology if James let him get a word in now. James wasn't going to let him speak quite yet. He had things he needed to say. "I realize I've been... quite difficult and withdrawn. Talking to you on the phone before you were released from the hospital was easier for me. I thought that once you got here, that things with us would be like they always had been. But, I saw your face when you realized my arm was gone. And even though you're the person I hi knows me better then anyone else, I just feel like all you, or anyone else, will see when they look at me is this...pathetic man. I mean, I just feel so useless and broken, that it's hard to for me to imagine anyone not seeing me that way."

Quiet stretched between them, and just when James was becoming anxious about the non response he was getting, Steve spoke.

"I'm not going to look at you while I say my piece, because I know that will be easier for you."

James wanted to protest, but chose not to. Steve was right. Serious conversations made him want to run and hide, and eye contact would only intensify that feeling. He just nodded, anxiety beginning to make his skin feel too tight.

Steve stared at his hands as he resumed speaking. "Obviously, I don't know what you're going through. Yeah, I was shot, but I know that's nothing compared to you losing your arm."

James paled, and when he spoke, his words held horrified anger. "Shut the fuck up, punk. This isn't a competition for who got it the worst. Damn it, Steve, you almost _died_. From what I was told by your mom, if you'd been found even a few minutes later then you were, you probably wouldn't be here right now, and that I can't think about. Yeah, dude, I lost my arm. And I'm having a fucking hard time dealing with that and accepting it. But for the love of God," he paused, choking up, knowing tears were steaming down his cheeks. "For the love of God, don't sit there and act like I have it worse than you. I was with my squadron when the land mine that claimed my arm went off. The medic was able to immediately stop the bleeding and get me to the infirmary at the nearest base. At no time was I at risk of dying. You were. So please don't sit there and try to downplay what happened to you. You don't have to do that. Not with me."

Steve didn't realize that he had tears soaking his face until he felt them seeking through the material of James' shirt after he stood and pulled his friend into a tight embrace. They ended up laying on the hardwood floor, talking throughout the night, each of them telling the other their traumatic experience. By the time the sky outside the windows was turning to a light lavender and the sun was rising, all was once again right with Steve, James, and their friendship. Each man had a long road ahead of them, but with each other, Steve's family, and their friends, they would make it through.


End file.
